


The Fuckening

by Moonlit_Hunter



Series: The Entity is Bored, so This Might as Well Happen [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Ace Visconti gets up to Shenanigans, All Survivors Need a Hug, Amanda Young has PTSD, Amanda Young hates Pedophiles, Author has never seen A Nightmare on Elm Street, David Tapp has Survivors Guilt, David Tapp is the only Cop that Amanda Young will Ever Trust, Every Survivor Simps for Yui Kimura, Freddy is Going to Have a Bad Time, Jane Romero Tries Her Best, No beta we die like illiterates, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quentin Smith has PTSD, Sorry if it shows, mostly platonically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27922102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Hunter/pseuds/Moonlit_Hunter
Summary: Amanda Young was admittedly an awful person, but she damn well knew that she was more human than almost every Killer in the Entity's Realm.Such is proven when she overhears a dark secret about her fellow Killer Freddy Krueger.Except this time, there will be hell to pay.Summery is subject to change, the story is probably not.
Relationships: Amanda Young & Quentin Smith, Caleb Quinn | The Deathslinger & Amanda Young, Nea Karlsson/Meg Thomas, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: The Entity is Bored, so This Might as Well Happen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044603
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	The Fuckening

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Look! I'm contributing to the DbD fandom!  
> At the Beginning of each chapter, I will post trigger warnings if I believe there are any. If I miss one, let me know so I can update them.  
> This chapter has mentions of Pedophilia, so be warned.

The Fuckening: Chapter One

The Fog was an unfriendly place

Devoid of the Sun’s warmth; of the bitter chill of moonless nights; of any creature comfort.

It was a lonely place.

Devoid of chirping birds; of running water; of growing grass.

It was a silent place above else…

At least the Survivors had each other.

Outside of the murderous Trials, the Survivors were welcome to join the communal fire, kept alive through the Entity’s unquestionable and unthinkable ways. They would sit about and talk of things; their pasts, who or what they left behind, and even tell tales of amusing mishaps during the Trials.

She recalls hearing of one tale where one of the Legion, Joey, if she recalled, tripped over a mysterious rock and accidentally got stuck in a locker with Dwight for half a Trial. It seemed that Iron Maiden only worked from the outside.

Another tale she recalled was the time Ace accidentally and successfully challenged The Deathslinger to a game of strip poker in the Dead Dawg Saloon.

But then again, no one could confirm this, seeing as Ace was the only one alive when it happened. It _did_ seem farfetched.

Whether true or false, Ace could tell a story. Most of them could.

This was the place to be whenever loneliness or the gray depressive nature of The Fog threatened to tear you apart from the inside out.

She just wished she could join them.

Unbeknownst to the Survivors, the Killers who hunted them had a communal campfire of their own.

But Amanda Young much preferred the shadows of the Survivor’s fire.

She could rarely stand most of her fellow Killer’s presence. Some of them, such as The Shape, The Doctor, and The Clown, were monsters hiding behind the shattered visage of a human form.

Others were twisted beasts, perhaps once human but no longer. The Hag, The Hillbilly, The Oni, and The Spirit, made monsters by their pasts and the Entity’s corruption.

Some of them she simply couldn’t actually talk with. The Plague and Anna, the Huntress, spoke languages so far from English that she could never hope to understand. At the very least Anna knew enough English to introduce herself.

The Legion…. Well, they all teenagers in the 90s and they all lived in the similar area of the world. But they were teenagers, and she was a grown-ass adult. She wanted nothing to do with four stab-happy hooligans, mired in their teenage drama, hormones, and “nothing matters” attitude.

The only killer who Amanda was remotely friendly with was The Deathslinger Caleb Quinn. He had been kicked around by everyone and everything, much like she had when she was young. They both took care of those who deserved what came to them but were untouchable to everyone else. They even shared a genuine enjoyment of creating.

However, Quinn was born and raised over a hundred years before Amanda was and finding common ground between them was difficult. Most of their interactions were comfortable silences with nothing but the cranking of gears and the occasional expletive when one of them inevitably and accidentally jammed a finger or got one caught in a gear.

Some days this was enough.

Most of the time it wasn’t.

So once again Amanda found herself lurking in the brush outside the Survivor’s communal fire, soaking up the social interaction like an extrovert, even though she herself was not participating.

The group was smaller than usual tonight. The German architect, whose name Amanda couldn’t quite recall as he was new to this place, sat next to the Girl with Many Names. She honestly had no idea what was going on with that, nor why her face changed with them. They screamed the same in any case. Both were listening intently to Laurie Strode, who was once again telling her fellows about Myers.

Amanda had heard the story too many times to count. After all, Laurie told the damn thing to every single new survivor she met!

Amanda still listened. Sometimes Laurie changed the story slightly, adding new details or changing others for dramatic effect or for the sake of keeping the story relatively interesting for people who’ve heard it so many times.

Some, like Adam Francis, were not listening. He was merely reading his book with the light of the fire and using Laurie’s story as a pleasant background noise.

The last two survivors around the fire tonight were the quiet Quentin Smith, who had returned from the most recent Trial bruised, bloodied, and with genuine torment hidden behind the bags of his eyes, but alive. And then there was Jane Romero, a Campfire regular. She was almost always there to lend an ear and a shoulder to the younger survivors, especially those with trauma outside of the Entity’s realm.

If she were honest, Amanda didn’t much care for her. Some people didn’t want to share their damn sob story. It didn’t help that she kept that damn talk-show façade of hers when prodding in the dark of people’s pasts.

In her inner musings, Amanda missed the (thrilling) conclusion of Laurie’s tale and the first round of the new people discussing it, asking questions and the like.

“Is that why he targets you? Because you were the one who got away?” asked the German.

“Yes. Sometimes killers and survivors know each other before they get swept away.” Laurie twisted her back, cracking the vertebrae in a series of satisfying pops and crackles.

The worn logs the Survivors sat on where definitely not good for their health, much like everything in this place.

“… is that why he chased after you so hard today, young man?”

Hmm? Amanda must have missed more than she meant.

“Pardon?” responded Quentin.

The German reiterated. “During our Trial today. The burned man chased you at every opportunity. Do you know each other?”

Quentin curled into himself, hunched over his log and staring into the fire. “Yes.”

“He gets stronger the more people know about him. At least, that’s how it was in the real world.” He sighed. “I don’t think that matters here. You might as well know.”

All listeners were watching him, Amanda included.

“We’re from a small town in Ohio called Springwood. The only exceptional thing that ever happened there was covered up so heavily that no one new knew and everyone who did repressed it. Hell, I didn’t know about it until he came back.”

Quentin readjusted himself on the log, trying in vain to get more comfortable for what was sure to an uncomfortable retelling of a painful tale.

“We first figured something was wrong when one of our classmates tore his throat out with a steak knife in the middle of our town’s diner in front of my girlfriend Nancy. Dean was a pretty happy guy, so it really shook a lot of people when it happened…” Quentin paused. “But then it kept happening.”

“Kris died next, thrashed around her room and torn open while my best friend watched helpless. Jesse ran away, splattered in her blood trying to find help. The police obviously didn’t believe his story and they booked him almost immediately after. They were both just… just such great people… They didn’t deserve what happened…”

“How long did Jesse get?” asked Laurie.

Quentin shivered in the light of the cold fire. “He never made it to trial. His heart was ripped to shreds a day after he got detained.”

“Did any of you have those nightmares where you’re falling, and right before you hit the ground, you wake up?” Quentin asked rhetorically, quickly changing the subject. “They were kind of like that.”

“Nightmares?”

“I was getting to it, Jane.” Quentin sighed before continuing.

“Freddy could go into your dreams, stalk you into madness, hurt you in the real world if he caught you. That was what was happening to our friends… to Nancy… and later to me.”

Quentin took a long pause, eyes gazing unfocused into the fire before continuing.

"Nancy and I started digging. Went to the town’s archive’s, went over every article on the internet that might help. We drank more energy drinks and coffee than a college campus would during final’s week. It wasn’t until we learned that Nancy and I went to elementary school together did we get somewhere.”

The German looked like he wanted to interject, but a single glance from both Laurie and Jane shut his mouth.

“It turns out that Nancy’s mom knew. She knew what connected us to Freddy. Later we found out that all of Freddy’s victims to date went to the same elementary school; Bedlam.”

Quentin hunched further in on himself. “We were the last two of our class left. All the others had died mysteriously.”

“He wanted revenge against us. He wouldn’t stop until each and every one of us was dead by his hand or our own. Maybe he wouldn’t stop at all…”

“Why was he after you in the first place? What does that have to do with your preschool?” the Many-Faced woman asked, looking slightly confused.

Quentin paused for a moment, staring exhausted into the fire. “Our parents lynched him. Chased him down like a rat and cornered him in a building. I watched them burn him alive in one of my nightmares. Nancy’s mom confirmed it.”

“Why would they do something so horrid?” Huh, apparently Adam was paying more attention than they first realized.

“People in town were already suspicious of him in a cold case. When Nancy, and apparently others including myself, told our parents about what he was doing….

The judge who signed the warrant made a mistake, signed in the wrong place. Everything that was seized by police in the Bedlam’s furnace room became inadmissible. Our testimonies were in question since we were so young. When Freddy made bail, the parents took things into their own hands.”

“Fucking cops…” Amanda muttered under her breath. “Always fucking things up.”

“What did he do? Or rather, what did they think he did back then?” asked Laurie.

Quentin’s eyes darted to Laurie before returning to the soft glow of the fire.

“Missing kid, I think. But we knew what really happened… Well, we assumed it was the same as what he did to us…probably would’ve ended the same way if Nancy didn’t ‘squeal’, as Freddy put it.”

…What did that mean? Amanda looked at the Survivors ‘round the fire. Quentin’s face looked more exhausted than usual. Jane looked ill, hand covering her mouth with the other placed firmly on Quentin’s shoulder. Adam’s face looked ashen, his book threatening to slip from his slacking grasp.

“You don’t mean…”

That Freddy killed kids?

“…Yeah…”

Beat them too? Not the worst thing.

“…No... Don’t tell me that he…”

“Yeah.”

Amanda picked herself off the pile of dead leaves she was using as a chair and dusted herself off. Fucking survivors and their sob stories. Lots of people get beat and they turn out fine enough. Was it kinda fucked up that he did it to kids that young? Yeah. But she didn’t get why Jane and Adam reacted that way. Whatever.

The rustling of branches nearly covered up Quentin’s next words. Amanda heard them all the same.

“…he touched us…”

…what?

What?

WHAT!?

Silence.

Overwhelming silence.

The survivors were all staring in her direction.

…did she say that out loud?

…

…

…

Fuck it.

Amanda parted the foliage shrouding her presence and stalked towards the fire, towards Quentin.

This, understandably, caused a panic.

The German immediately scrambled over the log he and the Many-Faced girl were sitting on, Laurie jumped up immediately and pulled a large shard of glass from seemingly nowhere, pointing it ‘menacingly’ towards Amanda. Jane pushed Quentin behind her and stood protectively in front of him. Adam fled into the Fog, his book abandoned, alongside the Many-Faced girl.

Cowards.

Amanda skulked forward without much concern. After all, Laurie probably hadn’t properly used a shank outside of her fight with that eventually brought them here, and Jane was probably harmless without a locker nearby.

It wasn’t long before Amanda reached the campfire proper. There she did something that surprised all Survivors present: she sat down, staring down the vaguely hidden Quentin.

“Do you wanna repeat yourself, kid?” Amanda said in a voice raspy from disuse.

The faint crackling of the fire was the only thing breaking up the silence. Was it awkward? Was it tense? Was it wasting what could be valuable time? Yes to all the above. Didn’t matter, Amanda was going to be here until she got her answer.

“He’s got nothi-”

“I wasn’t talking to you, bitch.” Amanda silenced Jane without taking her eyes off Quentin. “Now, are you going to make me repeat myself or are we going to have a problem?”

If at all possible, Quentin’s face grew paler under Amanda’s piercing gaze behind the mask. They couldn’t actually see her eyes but being stared at by someone wearing a severed pig’s head had the same effect.

“W-what part?”

“The disgusting part.” Amanda said before pointing her knife hand at Laurie, stopping her approach. She may had taken her eyes off of her, but she damn well knew when someone was looking at her with ill-intent. Her time in prison gave her that skill which later would be honed in the Fog.

“Freddy touched us when we were kids.”

Amanda stood up, brushing non-existent dirt from her cloak. “That’s all I needed to hear.” She turned around and began walking back to the woods. 

Not moments later a ragged-looking Yui Kimura and David King emerged in the clearing, followed shortly by the haggard Adam Francis and the Many-Faced girl. Huh. It looked like the cowards were just getting reinforcements: the heavy hitters, the two Survivors Amanda would never want to go against outside of the Fog.

Amanda turned towards the fire before leaving for her workshop. “Thank you for sharing,” leaving both David and Yui looking confused.

***Line Break***

Amanda reached her ‘home’ with not a moment to lose. She ripped the pig head off her head and threw it hard against the concrete walls of Gideon’s Meat Plant. Her rage and hatred amplified into a raging blizzard that would not be quelled until her work was done.

She angerly threw all the plans on her work desk to the floor in one fell motion before slamming her hands down on the now clean, hard surface. 

She gathered some fresh paper and pens and pulled up a chair.

She cracked her knuckles.

There was a Game to play.


End file.
